


Reckoning

by Allstarsburnas01



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23361400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allstarsburnas01/pseuds/Allstarsburnas01
Summary: Cham Syndulla, accompanied by his closest confidants, heads to Coruscant to inform the council of the dire conditions on Ryloth caused by the ignorance and greed of Senator Taa. Along the way, they will have to confront their pasts, their futures, and the ties that bind them to each other.
Relationships: Gobi Glie & Cham Syndulla
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

It has been a long time since Cham Syndulla had watched the dusty planes of Ryloth slide by underneath him, and he figures that is mostly a good thing. He stretches out, trying to get comfortable in the metal seat of the transport, the worn remains of what might have once been padding doing little to assist him. 

Beside him, his second-in-command, Tae Boon, is trying desperately to comfort Gobi Glie, who's incessantly tapping feet are shaking their entire row of seats. Gobi has never flown before, not like this, and it’s showing in his displays of nervousness which increase the higher the transport flies. In the row across from them, Voyla is…

“Voyla!” 

“Hmm?” The beige Twi'leck opens a sleepy eye and raises his head slightly in acknowledgment from his reclined position.

“You need to keep yourself strapped in!” Indeed, Voyla is not only without a seatbelt, but draped over all three of the seats on his side of the transport.

“Mhmm.” Voyla, clearly unaware of anything Cham is saying, closes his eyes again and dozes back off. Cham lets him, hoping that the pilot didn't make any sudden maneuvers. It wasn’t necessary to bring them all along, really. But Tae and Voyla had insisted; Voyla in his usual loud, crass manner and Tae with the expected amount of stuttering and backpedalling. Gobi had stayed silent.

In retrospect, Cham supposes it was rather selfish of him to request Gobi’s companionship on the trip. But still, when he'd gotten the summons to travel to Coruscant, to report on the state of Ryloth after the war (he'd been rather surprised to find that Windu had actually brought it before the council at all, but then again, the Jedi had always been a rather strange breed), he couldn't imagine facing the long hallways and huge meeting chambers and the snobbish senators with their privileged lives and trivial worries without a cold feeling gathering in his chest. Now, looking over at his nervous companion, sitting almost too still now with his quintolium laid across his lap, Cham feels his anxiety diminish. To even imagine that he'd ever dreamed of being elected to the senate is beyond him.

“Ow!” 

Cham looks up at the sudden thud to see Voyla picking himself off the floor, the jolt of the transport hooking up to the cruiser having knocked him off of his perch. Chuckling under his breath, Cham lifts the seat's restraints from his chest and shoulders and offers a hand to Voyla. Tae, also having taken his seatbelt off, is immediately occupied with helping Gobi release himself from his seat. After making sure all of the members of his group are out of their seats and standing up, Cham walks forwards towards the airlock doors, which creak with age as they open into what seems to be, at that moment, another world. 

“Oh-” Gobi's exclamation of astonishment is cut off by Voyla's much more explicit expression of awe:

“Holy _Kark_!” 

For the first time since he can remember, Cham can’t blame Voyla for his outburst. The sweeping halls of the cruiser are decorated with plush red carpeting and sleek steel, perfectly identical lights evenly spaced along the ceiling lighting the way to another pair of doors, which presumably lead to the interior of the ship. It is probably simple, Cham thinks, in the eyes of the other guests of the Senate who have ridden before them, but after the years living in their underground camp, even Cham is rendered slightly breathless by the simple modernity of the hall. 

Tae Boon stands next to him, a reserved smile on his lips. “It's a little relieving, isn't it, after all this time?”

Cham nods in agreement despite himself. 

* * *

As it turns out, Voyla has an entire inventory of curse words ready at his disposal, and Cham is sure he's used just about all of them by the end of their tour of the cruiser. After thanking (and, on Cham's part, apologizing profusely to) the slightly startled looking clone trooper who had showed them around, they are led to their quarters to unpack, and Voyla surprises everyone present with an entirely new vocabulary of profanities. 

Their quarters are, in a word, superfluous. The mattresses are stacked elegantly one on top of the other, and covered with blankets made out of materials that Cham hasn't seen or felt in a long time. The rooms themselves are furnished with enough items of such high caliber that, if returned to their manufacturers at full value, could have fed a Twi'leck family for at least a year. Full length mirrors set into carved Laroon wood reflect the extravagant woven carpets and upholstered chairs that fill the space. 

“This is so odd.” Gobi breaks his customary silence for the first time since they’ve boarded the ship. 

“Yeah, kriffin' right this is odd.” Voyla, reclining onto one of the beds in the same way he had on the transport ship, is still in what seemed to be a state of shock and still not out of expletives. “It's like, one second, we're in the camp, minding our business, and next thing we know we're living it up like Senator-cricking-Taa.” He laughs, but Cham can tell it is forced, uncomfortable. 

He has to admit, their surroundings make him feel hypocritical, unfaithful to his cause. It reminds him of who he'd been before, and somehow that makes him feel dirty, as if the riches around him make him just as bad as those who's entire lives are lived out in this luxury. He wonders if the others feel the same way, but says nothing. His insecurity, he knows, will only serve to further the discomfort of the group. 

“I think we deserve it, you know.” Tae Boon's lightly spoken comment earns him a glare from Voyla. “T-the whole force, I mean. I think that everyone back home deserves this as much as the four of us.” Cham sees Voyla's shoulders relax, and decides not to intervene. Voyla and Tae, Cham thinks, will always be at odds, no matter where they are. It is strangely comforting. 

* * *

Cham lies awake, listening to the quiet breathing of his companions. It must be late, he thinks, but darkness of space outside of his window does little to confirm this assumption. He knows he needs rest for the days ahead, but he is uncomfortably aware of the movement of the ship underneath him, and the mattress feels strange after years of sleeping in a tent. 

He turns over, desperately trying to get comfortable without waking the others, and hears a similar noise from the bed next to his. His wide awake eyes meet with Gobi’s, and suddenly a feeling of calm washes over him. His friend’s quintolium is propped up at the foot of the bed, but Cham can hear Gobi playing it as clearly as if they were back in the camp, listening to the sound of the worn strings echoing off the cavern walls.


	2. Voyla

“It’s time to go, my friend. And I brought you some pants.”

Finally. All Voyla can do is let out a relieved chuckle, rolling over on his sleeping mat and peering through the bars of his window, barely peeking over the ground. He recognizes the Cupbearer’s shoes. 

“Took you long enough.”

The Cupbearer, Hondo Ohnaka, replies with a laugh of his own. His men, some of the others he’s freed from the compound earlier in the morning, take heated knives to the bars that separate Voyla from his freedom. 

He’s not actually sure why Porla’s cupbearer has decided to free him, of all people. The strong, simple weequay hacking away at the bars of his cell, he can understand. Ohnaka wishes to start his own empire, and he needs loyal men to do it. So when the man had come to him, months before, and promised Voyla a place in his plans without expecting anything in return, the Twi’leck had been a bit confused, but he’d known better than to ask questions if it meant he’d finally be free. 

Part of him thinks its because Ohnaka knows that nothing would burn Porla more than escaping with not only a large part of his fleet, but with his favorite toy as well. The kinder, more trusting part of him -the part that had gotten him into this mess in the first place- believes its because Porla’s Cupbearer had, once upon a time, been in the same position as Voyla was now. Either way, Voyla is just relived to be pulled into the sunlight of Boonta, feeling the burning sand against his stomach as Ohnaka’s men pull him from his prison. 

“You can walk, yes?” Ohnaka asks, somewhat teasingly. Voyla rolls his eyes. 

“You would know better than anyone else, Cupbearer.”

“Not Cupbearer, not anymore.” The weequay wrinkles his nose in disgust. “ _Captain_ , yes?”

“Captain, then.” Voyla grins. “How about those pants, Captain?”

They’re simple, made of rough cloth, but its more than Voyla has had to cover himself in longer than he can remember. The waistband brushes against the piercing in his naval, the gold winking in the sunlight. Voyla unscrews the piercing and pulls it out, disgusted. 

“Some gold, to get you started off.” He jokes, offering the jewelry to Ohnaka. The older man takes it, laughing with him. 

“So, Voyla,” He sounds so confident, leadership already comfortably settled onto him. “We need to get going before our, ah, Hutt _friends_ discover our absence. Where would you like to go?”

The question hits Voyla so suddenly. Where to go? It’s never something he’s been able to decide for himself. He’s never had a home, no one that he’s dreamt of returning to, no life that he’s dreamt of living. 

“Ryloth.” 

His answer surprises even himself, but as he considers it more, he realizes it makes sense. On Ryloth, he’ll be just like everyone else, not some uncommon rarity to be traded and bought and fought over. On Ryloth, he’ll be just another Twi’lek. 

Ohnaka smiles. “Ryloth it is, then.”

* * *

Voyla doesn’t speak Ryl. He knows a few odd phrases from the others, the rare Twi’leks that would appear in Porla’s court. He knows _yes_ and _no,_ he knows _help me_ and he knows _I’m miserable._

Strangely enough, he also knows _I love you_. 

Ohnaka drops him off at a fueling station, near a bustling market, rife with words and noises and sights and smells that Voyla doesn’t understand. Luckily for him, pride has never been an issue, and he is perfectly contented to wander around, stall to stall, repeating _work? work? where work?_ over and over, until someone points him in the direction of a line of Twi’lecks, mostly men, gathered a bit further away. Curiously, Voyla wanders over, still distracted by the feeling of the sun against his skin. 

_“Tun fenn’a’ani circaa?”_

Voyla can’t understand the man who suddenly sidles up to him, but he seems friendly, a wide grin and calloused palms and plain, worn clothing. 

“Sorry, what?” He tries basic first, and the man’s eyes light up. He recognizes the language. Voyla sighs in relief. 

“No twi’lecki, huh?” His accent is thick but intelligible.

“No, sorry.” Voyla replies regretfully. “What kind of work are people signing up for here?”

“Mining!” The man replies, as if it should be obvious. “Only work on Ryloth today, only work on Ryloth tomorrow.” 

Voyla nods. The other Twi’lek takes note of the awkward silence and fills it. 

“My name is Yan. Yours?”

“Voyla.”

They’ve made it to the front of the line, and another Twi’lek hands him what looks like a waiver. 

He can’t read it. He signs it anyways. 

* * *

Mining is difficult. For the first time, Voyla has dirt under his nails, dust in his clothing, and a constant ring in his head from the constant contact between steel and stone. He doesn’t mind at all. Compared to Nal Hutta, the mine on Ryloth is heaven. 

The company provides each miner with sleeping quarters, and Voyla comes and goes as he pleases. He gets up at the crack of dawn before his shift to visit the markets that seem to spring up everywhere, relishing the simple freedom of exchanging a credit or two for some fresh vegetables. 

He starts to learn Ryl, too. He picks it up listening to the conversations of the other men in the mine, and from the time spent with Yan, with whom he grows closer with as time goes by. The older Twi’lek is kind and quiet, and never asks Voyla who he is or where he comes from or why he can’t speak his own native language. Voyla is grateful for that. 

He meets Yan’s wife and infant daughter. He holds a child for the first time in his life. 

He falls into a pattern: walking through the market in the morning, working in the mines, goingto Yan’s for dinner, laughing and playing games with his family. His life becomes simple, and the hole in his navel begins to heal over. 

* * *

Yan gets promoted to overseer, and there is a celebration the likes of which Voyla has never seen in his life. It seems that the entire small village is crammed into Yan’s home, newly purchased with his increased paycheck. Voyla samples foods he’s never tasted before, and watches the villagers dance strange dances to music provided by strange instruments. 

He laughs and joins in, but a part of him feels robbed. This is his culture, too, his home, but it all still feels so foreign to him, so distant. 

He finds himself sitting on the back steps, the darkness of the night creating a physical barrier between him and the light inside.

“You are not yourself tonight, Voyla.” Yan sits down next to him. The older man speaks Ryl to him now; Voyla is almost fluent. 

“I suppose not,” Voyla sighs in agreement, “It’s just so wonderful, it’s hard to imagine that I could be a part of it.”

Yan chuckles and shakes his head. “You are just as wonderful as all of _this,_ Voyla.” He gestures at the light behind them. “You just need to realize that.”

Voyla feels a warmth rush through him, something so unfamiliar, yet so _right_. He smiles at Yan, and Yan grins his trademark grin. 

“Let’s get back inside. They’re waiting for us.” Yan laughs and offers Voyla his hand. Voyla takes it. 

He finally has a family. 

* * *

It is almost winter when his simple, happy life is interrupted almost as abruptly as it began. It starts with a fellow worker in the mines, some Twi’lek he’s never met before. 

“You’re Voyla, right?” His voice is raspy, like a tabbac smoker’s, and he moves across the rocks carefully, as if he’s never really been in a mine before.

“Who’s asking?”

“Gobi Glie.” The blue Twi’lek extends his hand. His fingers are calloused, but his palms are soft. Voyla is immediately suspicious.

“You don’t work here, do you?” He asks, refusing to offer his hand in turn. 

“No.” Gobi shakes his head. “And neither should you.”

It’s been a while since anyone has told Voyla what to do. Considering this, Voyla thinks he handles it pretty well. 

“Kark off.”

Gobi looks undeterred. “You have no idea what’s going on beyond this mine, do you?” 

For a moment, it sparks his interest. Then he thinks of his quarters, his earl morning market visits, his nights with Yan and his family, and his interest fades just as quickly as it had come. 

“Why are you here?” He asks, accusingly. He’s not sure what he’s done to attract this strange Twi’lek into his life, but he does know that he wants him gone. 

“To recruit you. Our leader has taken interest in you, due to your-“

“I don’t care.” Voyla cuts him off. “Look, Gobi, or whatever your name is, my life here is _good_. I don’t need whatever it is you’re offering, and I don’t want it.”

Gobi looks at him, and Voyla is angered by the pity in the blue Twi’lek’s eyes. 

“Leave me alone before you ruin everything.”

It comes out a bit harsher than he intended, but it does the trick. Gobi walks away, leaving Voyla feeling relieved. Whatever it was that he was talking about, Voyla is almost certain it won’t have any effect on _him_. 

* * *

It happens during dinner. One minute, Voyla is sitting at Yan’s table, complimenting his wife’s food and making the baby laugh, and then next they’ve been surrounded. 

The men come in with no warning, breaking down the simple wooden door. Their armor gleams a deep silver that Voyla hasn’t seen since Nal Hutta. 

“Yan DuFont?” One of the strange Twi’leks asks. 

“Y-yes?” Yan sounds confused, afraid. The baby begins to cry. 

“You’re under arrest for assisting the rebellion and conspiring against the Galactic Republic and the government of Ryloth.”

Voyla feels his blood run cold. 

The other Twi’lek’s start towards Yan, and before he can help himself, Voyla has thrown himself between his friend and the men in strange armor. “Wh-what are you guys talking about?” He’s scrambling for words, all of the Ryl he’s learned in the past year in a half suddenly slipping away. “Its- It’s Yan, for kark’s sake, Yan would never-“

“Voyla.”

At the sound of Yan’s voice, everything goes still. He stands, brushing himself off and walking past Voyla and over to the soldiers. 

“Its okay.” He says calmly, placing his wrists behind his back and allowing them to cuff him. 

“Wh-what?” Voyla feels as if his world has been turned upside down. Nothing makes sense, and he can’t seem to find the words to get it to stop, to make the men leave and make his life to back to normal. 

“What about him?” The Twi’lek guarding Yan points to Voyla. 

“He’s just a friend. He knows nothing.” Yan replies in the same, calm voice. 

“Very well. Escort him out.”

Another one of the armor-clad Twi’leks grabs Voyla’s shoulder and roughly escorts him to the door. As he’s pushed out into the night, he can hear Yan’s voice, no longer calm:

_“No! Leave them alone! My wife didn’t know anything! She didn’t know-“_

Yan’s voice cuts off suddenly and Voyla all but runs back to his quarters, too confused by the succession of events and far too afraid of the outcome. 

The next morning, Yan and his wife are publicly executed. There is no sign of the child that Voyla had held and cherished in what now seems to be another lifetime. 

* * *

Tae Boon. Voyla had heard the name before, when his life had been simple and good and the name had meant nothing. He’d known that Tae Boon was a lord, the man in charge of the mining company, but nothing more than that. He’d never felt anything in particular for the man. 

He sees Tae Boon give the order to kill Yan and his wife. He takes the lives of the only people Voyla has ever loved with a wave of his gem-studded hand. 

“Let their deaths be an example as to what will happen to traitors who join the rebellion.”

He feels a hatred like he’s never felt before. Not for the slavers, not for Porla. What he feels for Tae Boon is entirely new and alien to him. It consumes him. 

The village is silent as the bodies of Yan and the woman he loved fall to the ground, lifeless. Voyla wants to yell. He wants to scream and destroy things. He wants to take his pick and do to Tae Boon exactly what he did to the closest thing Voyla had to a family. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder. Calloused fingers, smooth palms. 

Gobi. 

Suddenly everything makes sense. 

“He was one of you, wasn’t he?” He asks, trying to sound angry but unable to keep the grief from his voice. 

Gobi nods, and Voyla realizes that there are tears in the blue Twi’lek’s eyes, too. 

“He spoke so highly of you.” Gobi rasps.

The tears in Voyla’s eyes threaten to spill over, and Gobi, sensing this, turns to walk away.

“Gobi, wait.”

He’s not sure why he does it. Maybe it’s because a part of him has always known it isn’t right, the way they work in the mines for almost nothing while Tae Boon has armored guards and precious-stone rings and say over who lives or dies. Maybe it’s because, deep down, he has realized that he won’t be able to live the simple life that he’s been lusting after for so long. Mostly, though, it’s because he wants to honor Yan. And because he wants revenge.

“Tell me more about the rebellion.”


	3. Chapter 3

The thrumming vibration of the ship’s engine keeps Voyla awake. It’s been so long since he’s been on a ship at all, although he has to admit to himself that he is far better off this time around. Still, the feeling of weightlessness, ever so slightly perceptible through the ship’s generated gravity, makes him nervous. 

His fingers tug at his earlobe involuntarily, trying to fidget with an earring that hasn’t been there in over a decade. 

The clinking of glass makes him jump, startled. He sits up, slowly, cautiously. Across the room, he spots the outline of Tae Boon, pulling what is unmistakably a wine bottle from his bag. Tae looks up, obviously equally as startled by the sounds of Voyla’s sheets. 

Voyla slides out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Cham or Gobi. Tae watches distrustfully as he approaches and Voyla takes no offense: he and Tae rarely interact alone, and when they do it is usually unpleasant, and the unpleasantness is usually incited by Voyla. 

He’s not sure what compels him, exactly, despite the extensive period of time that Tae has spent with them, Voyla has never been able to consider him an ally. But somehow, here, in the darkness of the ship, so far away from almost everyone and everything he knows, Voyla finally feels as if Tae is truly on his side.

“Well?” Voyla whispers, “You gonna share, or what?”

* * *

When Voyla wakes up the next morning, the first thing he notices is the empty wine bottle in his hand. The second is that he is leaning up again’s Tae Boon’s shoulder. 

“What the kriff?” He wants to yell, but settles for muttering once he realizes that Gobi and Cham are still asleep on their separate beds. 

His voice is loud enough to wake Tae, however, who jerks away from him with a similarly muttered “ _Qato kunta?_ ”

“Ugh.” Voyla leans back, away from Tae. He doesn’t remember falling asleep at all, and feels slightly frustrated that half a bottle of cheap wine can not only knock him out, but leave him with such a pounding headache. “Damn. I’m getting old.”

“Mm.” Tae Boon, his body language mimicking Voyla’s distance, nods his head in agreement, and for once Voyla doesn’t feel like insulting him. (However, he can’t tell if it’s because they spent the last night together getting more drunk than they realistically should have, or because his head hurts so _damn_ much). 

“Well, well, well. What have you two been up to?” Cham’s voice startles the both of them. He’s laying on his bed still, propped up on his elbows and flashing a cheeky grin down on the both of them. “Hitting the bottle so soon?”

“Regrettably,” Voyla replies, head still pounding, “It’s Tae’s fault, though.”

Tae Boon huffs indignantly. “I wasn’t actually going to _drink_ any until you asked if you could join me, therefore the fault is _yours_.” 

Cham laughs, rolling out of bed and onto his feet. “I’m sure we can settle the matter over breakfast, no?”

* * *

Breakfast is, in a word, superfluous. Cham accepts it, gratefully, although Voyla can tell it’s put him on edge, reminded him where they are and what they’re doing. Gobi scans the spread, eyes wide, until he spots what appears to be a fruit. He bites into it, cautiously. Tae simply looks down at the splendor before him and raises his eyebrows in surprise before helping himself to absolutely everything. 

It makes Voyla sick. 

The movement of the ship underneath him, the sticky-sweet smell of pastries and syrups and core-imported fruits - they all take him back to a place he never wants to be again. 

“We really are living just like Senator Taa, eh Voyla?” Cham nudges him, clearly noticing the absence of his voice.

“Yeah.” 

Especially at times like this, he envies Cham’s ability to cloak his discomfort with his lighthearted sense of humor. 

Cham looks at him, concerned, and Voyla knows he’s going to ask about this later. Now, however, Cham’s main focus seems to have shifted towards convincing Gobi to eat something other than fruit, a task that at the moment seems horribly futile. 

Voyla knows he has to eat, the hangover piercing through his skull is telling him so, but all be can manage to do is force down a glass of water. 

It tastes like metal and he wonders if coming with Cham was a mistake. 


	4. Chapter 4

Tae Boon hasn’t slept soundly since boarding the ship. To be fair, he thinks, he probably hasn’t slept soundly in over a decade. A tiny part of him had held onto the hope that it had been the hard ground of the rebel camp that had kept him from sleeping through the night, but now that he’s able to sleep on a cushy mattress again, he’s been forced to accept the reality that the solution to his sleep problems isn’t that simple. 

All in all, the journey to Coruscant is uneventful. Its only a few days at light speed, and Tae takes that time to enjoy the comforts that he hasn’t had in a long time. Core-imported food, carpets, running water. He can tell that his companions are more uncomfortable than he is with their current surroundings, and does his best to keep quiet about how pleasant he finds it all, lest he risk the wrath of Voyla. 

The only hiccup in the journey, really, is Gobi. The musician doesn’t seem to be able to relax on the ship, space travel so unfamiliar and uncomfortable for him that he spends most of the journey on the floor of their sleeping quarters, eyes closed and breathing slow, fingers gently strumming his Quintolium. 

It is for this reason, and this reason only, that Tae looks forward to their arrival on Coruscant. Gobi’s distress in itself is upsetting enough, but the amount of strain that it has put on Cham isn’t helpful either. Their leader spends almost as much time in the sleeping quarters as Gobi does, either trying to convince him to eat or just sitting silently, as if he’s keeping watch over him. 

Unfortunately, this means that the only person available conversation most of the time is Voyla. And, despite the fact that their first night on the ship together was the first sign of real companionship either of them had ever showed towards each other, they’ve kept their traditional distance from each other for the rest of the trip, which Tae finds he doesn’t mind, despite the loneliness that its brought on. The idea of building a relationship with Voyla is…complicated, and Tae doesn’t want to deal with the storm of emotions that it would involve unearthing, in him or in Voyla. 

So, when Voyla disappears for the last couple of days, Tae doesn’t find himself incredibly concerned. The ship is only so big, and he knows how uncomfortable Voyla’s been feeling, so he figures that the other Twi’leck is off wandering and relieving his anxiety. 

When he finds Voyla drunk in one of the conference rooms, however, his concern increases significantly. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He demands, temper flaring up before he can stop it.

Voyla furrows his brow, although judging by the bright pink flush in his cheeks, it might have more to do with trying to figure out who Tae is, and less with the regular anger that Voyla tends to display at Tae’s presence. 

“Whats who doing?” He finally replies, his words slurred almost to the point of incomprehensibility. 

“We arrive at Coruscant in under an hour, and you’re drunk!”

“Hell yeah I am, gonna karkin’ arrive in style, baby!”

Immediately after this announcement, Voyla falls out of his chair and onto the floor. 

Cursing every deity he can think of, Tae makes his way over, hauling the other Twi’leck into a standing position. 

“Hey!” Voyla protests, “Get your hands _off_ me.” 

Tae ignores him, pulling him down the hall until he gets to their sleeping quarters. 

“Did you find Voyla?” Cham asks, hearing the door open. He’s still sitting on the floor with Gobi, the bard’s hands clasped in his, not even looking up as Tae enters, their fourth companion all but draped over him.

“I did. He’s drunk.”

“ _Heyyy_ Cham.”

Cham’s brow furrows in frustration, clearly overwhelmed. “Tae, can you take care of it, please? I’m needed here.”

Part of Tae resents the way that Cham speaks to him, the self-importance of it all, but he resigns himself to sitting Voyla down on one of the beds and forcing water down his throat. 

Cham sits on the floor with Gobi, their foreheads pressed together, and whispers to him until the ship settles on solid ground. 


	5. Tae Boon

For the first time in his life, Tae Boon tastes dirt and blood. 

The collapsed rubble of his palace pins him down, the air choked with dust from the explosion and blinding him. He coughs weakly, trying to summon the strength to call for help, but an indistinguishable slab of stone is weighing his chest down and his lungs simply fill with air as he attempts to draw breath. 

He doesn’t know what happened, only that one moment he was falling asleep and the next his palace was collapsing around him. _The rebels_ , he thinks. _The rebels must have done this._

Then, he stops thinking. 

* * *

Tae Boon jolts awake, pain rushing through his body as his neural transmitters suddenly begin firing again. He hears a soft snuffling in his ear, and immediately feels relieved as he realizes he might not die, after all. 

His bluurg, Tyrza, stands over him, sniffing him and letting out low, concerned growls. 

“Good girl, Tyrza,” he manages to breathe out, knowing that her hypersensitive ears can hear him, “Good girl.” The bluurg rubs her face against his, a gesture that, since both their childhoods, has served to comfort the both of them. 

Groaning with the effort, Tyrza begins to push against the slab of marble across Tae Boon’s chest, horn straining against the hard stone. Eventually, the strength of the bluurg prevails, and the rubble slides away, causing Tae to cry out as his clearly broken ribs are freed. The creature looks up, concerned, but continues to clear away the rubble trapping her master. 

He attempts to push himself into a sitting position, only to scream and collapse from the pain that suddenly spikes through his arms, his legs, his chest. Then suddenly, Tyrza is behind him, nudging him gently with her horn until he is able to sit up and grab hold of her saddle, still strapped to her back from their evening ride the night before. 

The splendor of gold strands woven with the leather clashes uncomfortably with the dirt under his nails. 

He thinks briefly of attempting to pull himself up into the saddle, but his ribs are still screaming in pain and one of his knees is twisted at a dangerous-looking angle, so he settles for limping next to Tyrza, fingers clinging to the sides of her saddle and tears streaming down his cheeks as the pain worsens with every step. 

* * *

By the time he makes it to the village, Tae Boon is barely conscious. Whatever caused his palace to collapse has made its presence known to the village as well, the aftershocks seem to have collapsed a few roofs here and there, and the air is still full of dust. The villagers are clearly shocked and the village seems to have been plunged into chaos, Twi’lecks yelling and running from house to house, helping their injured neighbors out of the rubble of their houses. At first, they don’t even notice their lord, limping next to his bluurg. 

When one of the villagers finally spots him, it takes her a moment to realize who he is, and Tae realizes that he must look like one of them now, dirt under his nails, his clothes reduced to nothing but dusty rags. When she finally recognizes him, her eyes widen in surprise before another expression takes over her face: hate.

For the first time in his life, Tae Boon realizes that he is powerless. 

“Hey.” She calls her companions, two Twi’leck men a bit further up the road. Upon seeing him, their facial expressions immediately change to mimic hers. 

“You-” Tae’s attempt at an order gets caught in his throat, choked by the dust in the air. The two men start towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees more villagers beginning to gather around them. Tyrza growls nervously. 

“Help me.” He whispers, the desperate plea the only thing he can think of to say. 

She doesn’t move. “You killed Yan DaFont and his wife.” Her voice is cold. 

“Who?” Tae doesn’t recognize the name. Yan DaFont, he figures, must have been one of the rebel collaborators he’s executed. 

He doesn’t realize he’s given the wrong response until the girl’s face twists with anger. “Can you imagine?” She turns to the men next to her. “Killing so many that you forget the names of those you’ve killed?” One of the men spits on the ground in disgust. Tae can feel his heart pounding in his throat. Never once did he think that the villagers under his rule would refuse to assist him in a situation like this. He knew they feared him. He realizes now that they hate him. 

He’s about to unleash his wrath upon the girl, scream that Taa will help him, will rebuild his palace for him and that she and the rest of the village will pay for not helping him, when suddenly another woman steps out of the crowd. She is older than the girl glaring at him, with tired eyes and a face lined with age. 

“I will help him.” She says calmly.

“Traitor!” The girl snaps angrily. “If his role was reversed with any of ours, he would let us die without a second thought.”

“It is not our way to stoop to their level,” The woman replies stoically, “You know that.”

The girl glowers, but nonetheless allows her elder to approach Tae Boon and put her arm underneath him, joining Tyrza in supporting him. He limps next to her, silently.

Not once does he think to thank her. 

* * *

Tae Boon drifts in and out of consciousness for the next week, laying on a straw mattress. He watches, half-aware and through blurred vision, as villagers come in and out of the hut. In hindsight, he will realize that they are fighting with his caretaker, trying to convince her to let him die. She never listens to them. 

Little by little, with each mouthful of food she spoons into his mouth, with each wipe of the warm cloth that she passes over his forehead, the haze begins to slip away. One morning, he’s coherent enough to blurt out: “Where is Tyrza?”

It startles his caretaker, she whips around rather quickly, almost knocking over the glass of water she’s pouring. She collects herself quickly though, making her way over to his bedside table. “If you’re referring to your bluurg, she is safe in our stables,” she responds. 

Tae Boon nods, feeling relieved. 

The woman raises her brow inquisitively. “Isn’t there anything else you want to say? Anything you want to know?”

“Not particularly.” Tae tries his hardest to inject a superior tone in to his voice, even though its only coming out as a whisper. “I know who did this to me. They will pay, be most assured.”

She narrows her eyebrows. “Don’t you mean you know who did this to _us_? Many in the village died because of that explosion, as did many who worked in your palace.” 

“I- ” Normally, Tae would have lashed out at the peasant woman, chastised her for thinking that any of their lives could be equal to _his,_ but he realizes that, in his current situation, this may not be the best idea. “Yes,” he agrees reluctantly, “I meant to say _us_.”

“Well,” she is obviously not at all convinced, “wouldn’t you like to know my name, at least? And maybe thank me properly, while you’re at it?”

He clenches his jaw, angrily, insulted at the idea that she feels entitled to his gratitude. _She_ should be grateful to _him_ , he thinks, for giving her the honor of saving her lord’s life. Once again, his common sense intervenes, and he manages to force out: “Ah, yes. I thank you greatly. What is your name?”

“Mywa.” She responds curtly, clearly still unconvinced of his sincerity. “I guess I’ll get dinner on, then.”

It never occurs to him to thank her for dinner, as well. 

* * *

“Of course, now that Senator Taa has received my correspondence, he will be sure to arrive quickly to rebuild my palace and restore my place as lord of this territory.” 

Tae Boon is still weak, he slumps forward a bit at the table and his hands shake as he uses the utensils, but he still manages to express his excitement at the idea of help from his most powerful ally. He can hardly wait to return to his palace, and be free from the dirt floors and scratchy clothing and lukewarm, pumped water of Mywa’s hut. 

“How _wonderful_ ,” his host replies sarcastically. 

Even after two weeks of being conscious, he is still surprised at her utter lack of respect for him, how openly she shares her opinions, especially the ones that she knows he won’t agree with. When, earlier that day, he discovered he was finally well enough to walk, she had strongly objected to his idea that they should visit the village bar to use the transmitter and contact Senator Taa, with complete disregard for his status and the fact that it technically meant she should have quietly obeyed his request. 

Taa, she’d said, was simply not trustworthy, and too often he’d proven that to the citizens of Ryloth who did not belong to the ruling class. Tae had brushed her off, mumbling that peasants didn’t understand the intricate workings of politics, and had started off in the direction of the bar. She had begrudgingly followed him, and fended off the few villagers who had decided that they should continue to try and convince her to let them kill him. 

He’d left a message with Taa’s secretary, and was hoping for a swift reply, as he had little patience left to deal with the peasants, Mywa included. 

“Don’t mock Taa,” he warns her, “It _will_ be wonderful. In fact, once I have reclaimed my rightful place, I shall reward you handsomely for your loyalty, unlike all those _others_ who would have let me die.”

“I suppose,” Mywa replies, “That’s the closest thing to real gratitude that I’m going to get from you.”

* * *

“Tae! Tae wake up, quickly!” 

He opens his eyes groggily, staring confusedly up at Mywa’s panicked face and wondering, first and foremost, why a peasant would even _think_ of daring to touch him in this way. 

“Tae, you have to hide, _now_. They’re going to kill you.”

“What?” Tae bolts upwards, his heart pounding. The rebellion, he thinks, they must have found him. Or perhaps the other villagers have finally united against Mywa. “Who?” he asks, managing to keep his voice low despite his panic. “The rebellion? The other villagers?”

“No.” Mywa sounds deadly serious. “Senator Taa and his men.”

Tae’s heart slams into his chest. “What-what do you mean?” He stammers out. Mywa is talking nonsense, there is no way that-

“Senator Taa is here to kill you.” Mywa is talking rapidly now, “I heard his soldiers questioning some of the others. They were the ones who caused the explosion, they were the ones who tried to kill you, and now they’re back to do it properly.”

His mind is clouding again, still unable to grasp fully the quick sequence of events happening before him. When he stammers out a second, mumbled “What?”, Mywa grabs him by the shoulders and, with all of her scrawny, aged strength, pulls him from the cot into a standing position. 

“Taa couldn’t…he couldn’t…” Tae is still murmuring nonsensically as she pulls him by the arm, sending shocking pains through his body. They’re running now, he’s stumbling behind her, his bare feet kicking up the dust. He hears yelling behind them, then the sound of footsteps, faster and faster. He doesn’t try to turn around. He doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want Mywa to be right. 

Suddenly, she stops, pulling him into a structure that he only realizes is the village stable once he sees Tyrza, happily baying as she recognizes her master. 

“Tae.” She places her hands on his shoulders, and for once he does’t think anything of it. “You need to run, Tae. Get on Tyrza and get far away from here, somewhere where Taa won’t find you.”

“But I-, but Taa would never-”

“Tae, please! He’s betrayed you, just as he has betrayed the people of Ryloth. You have to-”

Mywa’s blood splatters across his face.

The bullet misses his head by inches, embedding itself instead in the wooden wall behind him. 

What’s left of Mywa collapses to the floor. 

It isn’t until he’s miles and miles away on Tyrza’s back that he realizes the wet, sticky substance is still on his face, drying slowly in the desert air. His world shatters around him. He realizes that he never thanked her. 

His screams echo uselessly over the dunes. 

* * *

When Tae Boon surrenders to the rebels, his clothing is in tatters. His bare, blistered feet are stained with the desert sands, and his throat is so dry he can barely speak. Later, when he has recovered, he finds a bit of humor in imagining their confusion when he’d come out of the desert, collapsed atop Tryza’s limping form, barely able to stand without support from his Bluurg. 

“I surrender.” He’d rasped out, falling to the ground before he could explain any further. 

Now, he lies on yet another straw cot, no longer on the brink of death, but a splitting headache permeates his thoughts, undeterred by the large amount of water that the rebels have spent the last few days shoving down his throat. His vision is obscured by the fabric of what he assumes is a tent, and although his caretakers vary from day to day they all seem the same: stoic and hardened and dirty and absolutely uninterested in answering his questions. His panic grows with each passing day, he doesn’t know what their plans are, and whether or not those plans involve keeping him alive. He doesn’t know where Tyrza is, either, and her safety weighs on his conscience. 

Mywa’s blood is gone from his face, but he still wakes up in the middle of the night, desperately trying to wipe it away. He still can’t fully process what has happened. He can’t bring himself to believe that Taa has betrayed him, but the sight of Mywa’s body remains imprinted in his mind, reminding him of the impossibility of any other explanation. 

One day, a twi’lek with pale, pink skin enters his tent. Of everyone he’s seen so far, this man stands out. Rage seems to emanate from him, hatred directed precisely at Tae leaks from the lines of his mouth and from his pitch black eyes. “Cham’s finally decided what to do with you,” he drawls out, his accent unplaceable but decidedly foreign, “come with me.”

Tae, seeing no other option, does as he says. His regular anger rears inside of him at the idea of following orders from someone so obviously beneath him, but something about the pure _hatred_ that this man seems to have for Tae tells him to hold his tongue. 

Tae’s still bare feet meet cool rock as he steps out of the tent, and he takes in his surroundings for the first time. The ceiling of the enormous cavern arches high above them, overlooking the large maze of tents that have been set up inside. The smell of cooking hits his nose as he notices the sheer volume of people inside, making food over fires, sewing clothing, fixing weapons. Children - C _hildren!_ , thinks Tae- run through the camp, laughing and playing as though they weren’t hidden away in a labyrinth of caves, hunted by the Republic and by the lords of Ryloth. 

The unfamiliar twi’lek leads Tae through one of the tunnels that branches off from the main cavern, cool and dark and ever so slightly claustrophobic. He rounds a corner into a hollowed out room. “I’ve brought him.” He mutters, angrily, in his strange accent. 

“Thank the gods. Gobi here was worried you might kill him, Voyla.”

Tae hasn’t seen him in years, but Cham Syndulla’s accent is still stained with the cadences of the upper class, the mark of the his royal clan stamped permanently across his face. Still, he holds himself like a fighter, prouder and stronger than Tae has ever seen him before. 

“Welcome, Tae.”

* * *

The interrogation seems to last for hours, the passage of time blurred by the windowlessness of the underground cavern. Tae is exhausted, and his voice feels weak, but he presses onward, answering Cham and Voyla’s questions to the best of his ability. Republic strategies, locations of weapons caches, which rebel hideouts have been compromised -the information pours out of Tae and, strangely, he feels relieved. He thinks about Mywa, Mywa whom he never thanked. He feels more loyal to the memory of her than he ever had to Taa, especially now with reality finally sinking in. He tries to tell himself that this is enough, this makes up for the way he treated her when she was alive.  


He knows this is a lie. 

Gobi, Cham’s companion who Tae vaguely remembers hiding in the corners of society parties years ago, sits behind his interrogators, taking notes in a shorthand that looks so messy Tae can’t help but comment: “Is anyone actually going to be able to _read_ those notes?”

Cham has to physically hold Voyla back. 

Finally, after what seems like forever, they seem satisfied. Tae feels drained, but he hopes that he’s given them enough to warrant their protection, at least temporarily. He can’t be sure though, the Twi’lek Voyla seems to have Cham’s ear, and his hatred for Tae doesn’t seem to have diminished at all. 

“We can’t keep him here, Cham. He’s responsible for the murder of hundreds! Innocents!”

They’ve moved into a different room, but Tae can still hear Voyla’s voice angrily bouncing off the walls. Gobi responds, his quiet voice unintelligible but clearly much calmer than Voyla’s. The two seem to go back and forth, with the occasional word from Cham, but the only voice he can hear is Voyla’s, loudly and righteously advocating for his death. 

Finally, it all becomes too much. He puts his head down on the aluminum table in front of him and drifts off to sleep. 

* * *

“Wake up.”

Tae Boon is roughly shaken awake, and jolts upward to meet Voyla’s pitch black eyes. He assumes this means they’ve decided to kill him. 

His heart jumps dully for a moment at the thought, but he’s surprised at the extent to which he’s simply resigned himself to the idea. 

“How am I going to die, then?” He asks the other twi’lek, still feeling nothing but emptiness. Perhaps, he thinks, the fear won’t kick in until he’s actually about to die. 

“You’re not going to die.” Voyla delivers the message through gritted teeth, clearly unhappy about it. 

Tae still feels nothing but exhaustion. He wonders if the feeling will ever fade, or if the world has simply become too much to handle, and he’ll continue on forever feeling this empty. 

“Gobi thinks that you’ve got to have _something_ good inside you,” Voyla continues talking, although Tae isn’t sure if it’s to Tae or to himself, “because you’re nice to your Bluurg. Apparently that means something.”

Tae feels the fog lift a bit at the mention to Tyrza. “Is she okay?” He asks Voyla, forgetting for a moment how much the man hates him. “No one will tell me.”

“The Bluurg is fine.” Voyla answers curtly, clearly disliking the interaction. Relief replaces the emptiness, and Tae releases a breath he can’t remember holding. 

“I want you to know that I hate you. That isn’t going to change,” Voyla mutters suddenly, “you’ve killed so many. You killed Yan.”

_“You killed Yan DaFont and his wife.”_

Finally, Tae remembers him. The loud, defiant rebel collaborator who’d been hauled into his palace, begging them to spare his wife, his child.

“Taa ordered the immediate execution of anyone who helped the rebels.” It isn’t an excuse, and Tae knows it. He thinks about Mywa, sacrificing her own life to save him. What if she’d been hauled before him, before everything? What if he had killed her, never knowing the selfless good that she’d possessed? How many like Mywa had he simply allowed -no, ordered- to die?

“That’s all you’ve got?”

It all hits him at once. He buries his head in his hands. 

“Stop it!” Voyla screams, enraged.

Tae feels hot tears running down his face. They feel like Mywa’s blood. 

“You don’t get to mourn! You killed them!” Voyla stands, throwing his chair against the wall. “ _You killed them!”_

* * *

That night, Tae makes an impulse decision for the first time in as long as he can remember. He quietly leaves his tent, stepping out into the stillness of the sleeping camp. His feet, still bare, meet with the cold stone of the ground as he makes his way to Voyla’s tent. He’s not entirely surprised to find the twi’lek still awake. Voyla jumps slightly as the tent flap rustles, but his facial expression quickly changes to the one of undiluted hatred he was wearing earlier. 

“What are you doing here?” In the short time Tae has known him, Voyla has never lowered his voice. Now is not an exception. “Get out!”

“I- I have to tell you something.” The words come out soft and weak, and he lets them. Voyla makes him feel fear, yes, but he also feels shame. Its been a very, very long time since he’s felt shame. 

“Get on with it then,” Voyla snarls. Tae takes a moment to reflect on the impressiveness of Voyla’s loyalty to Cham, clearly the only thing that is making him tolerate Tae’s presence. 

“Yan DaFont. He had a child.”

Voyla’s eyes narrow, as if he’s confused about where the conversation is going. 

“Taa’s orders explicitly stated to kill any children of rebel collaborators.”

He feels his back hit the ground, and suddenly Voyla is on top of him, hands around his throat. 

“ _How could you_?” The words are somewhere between a scream and a sob, “That was my family, do you understand? My _family!_ ” 

“No, no stop-” Tae chokes out, fingers scrabbling uselessly against Voyla’s iron grip, “I didn’t- I didn’t kill her! She’s alive!”

Suddenly, he can breathe again. 

“What?” Voyla is suddenly whispering, as if he is in a dream and raising his voice might bring him back to reality. 

“I couldn’t do it. Even then, before all of this. I couldn’t kill a child. I had my soldiers take her to a nearby village. She should still be there.”

Voyla sits back, looking visibly shaken. 

Finally, he croaks out: “I have to find her. I have to-”

He’s standing and out of the tent before Tae can say anything else.

* * *

A week passes. Voyla’s search party takes off and comes back victorious, Yan DaFont’s daughter safe and in their possession. Tae begins to look after the many Bluurgs in the compound. At first, he has to hold back his comments about the commonality of it all, struggling to come to terms with the fact that he’s no longer a lord. 

Soon though, the job becomes a safe haven for him, something thoughtless and calming that he can do to take his mind off of Taa’s betrayal, Mywa’s death, the hundreds killed under his orders. The other rebels avoid him. Only Cham and Gobi seem to tolerate him, the former always too busy to talk and the latter too quiet for actual conversation. He doesn’t mind.

Voyla no longer seems to hate him. There will never be full trust or full forgiveness between them, and Tae knows this. Somehow, he is happier at the thought that Voyla has been united with Yan DaFont’s daughter than he would be had Voyla forgiven him completely. 

He watches the rebels as he walks to and from the stable every day, as he sits outside his tent and eats his meager meals. He watches them in their happiness, their sadness, their strength and their determination. He finally realizes something that he never could have seen from the high towers of his palace: there is not difference at all between him and these people. Nothing that makes him inherently better and them decidedly inferior. He realizes why Cham renounced his royalty long ago. 

He spends every day wishing he had thanked Mywa when he had the chance.


	6. Chapter 6

When the ship touches down, Cham feels Gobi’s shoulders release for the first time in days, and it takes everything in him to keep from breaking down and sobbing in relief. 

His right hand had been catatonic for days, barely eating and speaking even less than usual, not able to deal with the physical and psychological effects of first time space travel, but finally Gobi is getting up, albeit shakily, strapping his Quintolium to his back and gathering his belongings, and Cham lets himself relax too. 

Only for a moment, though, as he still needs to deal with the welcoming delegation, as well as the fact that Voyla, despite Tae’s best efforts, is still drunk. 

“Voyla,” He turns his attention to the inebriated Twi’leck, still sitting on the bed. “Can you stand yet?”

“Heyy there, Cham,” Voyla at least has the dignity to look sheepish. “I’m, uh, I’m-” He cuts himself off by hiccuping, and Cham sighs, annoyed. 

His question is answered, however, when Tae Boon attempts to pick up Voyla’s bag.

“Hey!” Voyla jumps up from the bed, “Don’t touch my karking stuff!”

Thankful that Voyla is at least slightly mobile, he gathers up his own belongings and leads his companions out into the sunlight of Coruscant.

He hears Gobi gasp quietly behind him, but other than that his companions are able to contain their shock at the landscape that greets them as they step onto the ramp. He admires them for it really, as he can barely contain his own reaction. The skyline is almost overcrowded with buildings outstretched towards the sky, thousands of hovercrafts buzzing around them like flies. 

The planet isn’t particularly humid, but compared to the dry desert of Ryloth, the air feels like it’s soaking through Cham’s skin, the sun jarring after days in space, the unfamiliarity of the strange star shining through the polluted haze throwing off his vision. 

He tries to ignore the alien feeling of it all, look put together for the welcoming committee.

The welcoming committee is relatively small, some senators that he assumes have made their concern for Ryloth part of their political image, and some reporters who are undoubtably there for the same reason. Senator Taa, much to his relief, is not there. He’s dealing with enough as it is, and isn’t sure if he would have had the energy to face his political rival right then and there.

Strangely also relieving is the presence of the Jedi, Mace Windu, who steps forward to greet him. 

“Welcome to Coruscant, General Syndulla. Thank you for coming.”

He will never get used to that title. 

He glances at the reporters and almost freezes at the realization that they will be recording his every word.

Gobi’s fingers brush against his, and he finds himself again.

“I am here for the people of Ryloth, Master Jedi. They thank you for this opportunity to expose injustice and to give them the lives they deserve.”

He finds himself hyper-aware of the cameras on them, and thanks Kikalekki for the fact that Voyla doesn’t seem outwardly inebriated. 

Windu leads them down the ramp, into the small crowd. Cham scans the area, instincts from over a decade of fighting in the desert unsullied by the days long trip through space. He takes note of the large amount of senate guards and lets himself be soothed by the presence of the Jedi beside him and the weight of his own blaster in his shoulder bag. Windu has proven his trustworthiness, Cham reminds himself, he would never knowingly lead them into a trap, and would defend them with his life if he unknowingly did so. 

The senators in the committee approach him, and he allows them to make a show of greeting him, maintaining his stoic but polite facade, letting the presence of Gobi at his side fuel him. It almost feels like he was on the campaign trail again, a feeling that rushes forward from the edge of obfuscation, nearly forgotten about until now.

It reminds him how badly suited for politics he really is. 

Finally, Windu manages to get them away from the crowd and inside, where they are once again greeted by extravagant decorations and carpeting. This time, no one says anything, although Cham can’t tell if its from exhaustion or that they’ve all started to accept how _different_ everything here is from their lives back on Ryloth. 

“We know that you’re wary of the Republic and the council,” Windu is saying as he leads them down the corridor, “And very rightly so. We have assigned two Jedi guards to you, to guarantee your safety and assuage any doubts you may have about out intentions.” 

Cham nods. He knew all of this beforehand, he wouldn’t have come here himself, much less risk his companions, if their protection hadn’t been guaranteed by Windu.

As they approach what Cham assumes will be their living quarters during their time on Coruscant, he notices two other men, clad in Jedi robes, waiting for them. He assumes these are the guards. 

He would have preferred Windu himself, but he also knows that the man is very high up on the Jedi council, and most likely has more pressing matters to attend to than to guarding the rebel delegation from Ryloth. 

“General Syndulla, let me introduce you and your companions to your Jedi guards for the duration of your stay.” Both of the men step forward. 

“Kit Fisto,” The first of the two to introduce himself is the Nautolan, and he does so with an ear-splitting grin. 

“Eeth Koth.” The other is Zabraki, more stern and stoic, but Cham can see a softness in the corners of his eyes. 

“Nice to meet you,” He responds. He doesn’t trust them right away, but he can tell by the way the hold themselves that they are powerful warriors, and the fact that Windu seems to trust themdeeply is good enough for him.

“I will leave you to settle in and get some rest, the report will begin tomorrow morning.” Cham nods, and Windu takes his leave. 

Before the door slides shut behind them, he hears Kit Fisto and Eeth Koth:

“Did you feel his force signature, Kit? Windu was right. He truly is a formidable warrior.”

“Truly. But did you see the kindness in his eyes?”


	7. Chapter 7

The moment they enter the room, Voyla throws up into a vase. 

It is all too much, the sudden exposure to Coruscant’s foreign weather, the landscape of the planet so shocking and unlike anything he’d ever seen, the effort it had been to walk straight and keep himself from exclaiming from surprise at every thing he’s seen. 

The effort it had been to contain his fear. 

“Voyla! Are you alright?” The concern in Gobi’s voice makes Voyla feel incredibly guilty. After all, it’s his own fault for going off and and getting drunk right before they were supposed to land. But still, how else was he supposed to deal with the claustrophobia of the ship, the memories that it brought back? This question does nothing to assuage his guilt.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He pants in response. 

“That was…” Tae Boon starts, and Voyla thinks the other man is about to tear into him, until he simply asks “…Where are we?”

“Honestly?” Voyla laughs, as feeling as overwhelmed as Tae sounds, “I have no idea. This is so much karking crazier than I could have ever imagined.”

He looks over at Cham almost instinctively, as if he might have some kind of answer for them, but he looks just as worn and shocked as the rest of them. He shakes himself mentally. Cham is just as much in this situation as they are. Besides, his earlier drunkenness must have stressed them all out enough, especially Cham.

He refocuses his energy on the others. “Gobi, are you okay? You didn’t seem like you were doing great during the flight.”

Gobi’s cheeks burn dark blue. “I’m okay now,” He responds softly. “Sorry for making all of you worry, especially you, Cham.” 

Hearing Gobi say his name seems to snap Cham out of the haze he was in earlier. “Of course Gobi.” He smiles, but it does nothing to hide the tiredness in his face. 

They all notice it, but Gobi takes action first. “We should rest.” He says simply. 

Voyla nods in agreement. “I’ll, uh, go tell the guys outside about the vase, I guess.” 

Tae Boon scoffs softly, which Voyla would usually take offense to, but he catches the kind glance that Tae gives him, the slight smile, and realizes that Tae finds humor more in the ridiculousness of their situation than in Voyla’s usual messy behavior. A strange, warm feeling settles in his stomach, the same feeling from the first night on the ship, all of them sleeping in the same room together, sharing that bottle of wine with Tae. 

He slides the door open, drawing the attention of the two Jedi still stationed outside. 

“Hey, uh, I kinda just threw up in that vase. Who should I tell about that?” He asks awkwardly, very aware that his basic is not what it used to be. 

Eeth Koth, the Zabrack Jedi, shoots his Nautolan companion a look. Voyla doesn’t need to be a force user to interpret it: _What are we now, maids?_

Kit Fisto, however, grins widely. “I’ll let the cleaning staff know, they should be here shortly.” 

“Thanks.” Voyla replies sheepishly, feeling the color rising in his cheeks.

Back in the room, he wanders over to the window, pulling back the curtains and gasping in surprise, still shocked by the dense urban skyline. Still, he tries to appreciate it. _I’ll probably never come back here,_ he tells himself, and can’t help tacking on (a mental) _good riddance_. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a piece of paper wedged under the windowsill. It seems odd, it could be a stray piece of litter, but from the spotless look of their quarters Voyla finds this unlikely. 

He tugs on the paper, and it comes loose, flopping open to reveal a Huttese scrawl. 

Even just seeing the language sends a spike of fear into his heart, but once he reads the inscription, his blood runs cold.

_My dearest Voyla,_

_A little bird told me you were in town. I’d love to meet with you, it would be just lovely to see an old friend._

_-The Cupbearer_


End file.
